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“There is one other thing.
You have to sign a contract. He’s bringing it by—”
    “Who is?”
    “ Him . The man you came here with.”
    “Trouble?”
    She gave him an incredulous look. “Is that
his name?”
    “It’s as close as I could get. And it suits
him.”
    “Well, he’s bringing it by later today.” She
looked out into the darkness. “It is today, isn’t it?”
    “Uh, yeah. I suppose it is, at that.”
    “Do you have a place to stay? He said you
needed one.”
    “When?”
    “Now, I guess.”
    “No, I mean when did he talk to you
about all this? He didn’t stay five minutes last night, just long
enough to introduce us.”
    “He called me,” Kathleen said. “Must have
woken me up.”
    This baffled Charlie, since he hadn’t heard
the phone ring.
    “He said, ‘There will be miracles, but you
won’t like most of them.’ Oh, and he said, ‘No cops.’ I wonder why
he said that.”
    Charlie shrugged. “That’s how he rolls.”
    She wore a puzzled expression. “He rolls?
What does that mean?”
    “Just an expression. I guess he doesn’t like
cops.”
    “Anyway … you can stay in the basement
rent-free while you work on the book. You are going to edit
it, aren’t you?”
    Charlie sipped coffee and pondered his
situation. He’d been struggling recently to write fiction for an
hour at a stretch. Now this opportunity popped up. Funny-strange
how a job had come looking for him, brokered by the weirdest dude
he’d ever met. And it involved Forsyth County, of all places, land
of his accursed in-laws, and Momo, the unnamed assailant. There
were also nuts and bolts to consider. A lot of detail work, but the
breadcrumbs were there. So what if the book sucked? Many did. Just
add it to the pile. And there was that check—with the promise of
more to come. The woman had plenty of money, so it wasn’t like he’d
be bleeding her dry even if he logged some serious time on the
project. If he could whip Thurwood’s doorstop of a manuscript into
shape and get it published, it would look good on his résumé.
Royalties would be icing on the cake.
    “I can stay rent-free?”
    Kathleen nodded and pointed at the door
leading to the cellar. “Take a look.”
    He opened the door and flipped on a light at
the top of the stairs. He stumbled down creaking wooden steps into
a cold, dark, mildewy little world. He saw a bare bulb dangling
from a joist and pulled its chain, illuminating the water heater
and furnace. He listened to the whoosh of gas and suspected he’d
need a carbon monoxide detector. Old paneling bowed out from cinder
block walls. As for furniture, there was a metal-frame foldout cot
with an old mattress that appeared to have been home to some hungry
rats, a desk, a card table, and two metal chairs. The green shag
carpet had to go, but it looked like it would put up a fight.
    There was a separate patio entrance; the
door’s panes, like the overhead windows that ringed the basement,
were caked with decades’ worth of greasy dust and grime. The
basement opened onto a small back yard surrounded by a
weather-beaten, gap-toothed wooden fence. The small detached garage
behind the house looked like it could topple over or come crashing
down at any moment.
    He climbed the stairs to the kitchen. At the
top, he turned for one last look. What a dump . Only a truly
desperate man would accept such abysmal quarters. “Can I move in
today?”
    “Certainly. I don’t see why not.” She handed
him a set of keys along with the check.
    “I need to get some things from my
house.”
    “Didn’t you walk here?” she asked.
    He groaned. “Yeah, I did. I’m kind of
stuck.”
    “Here, take my car.” She grabbed a key from a
nail on the kitchen wall and handed it to him. “It’s old, but it
doesn’t have many miles on it because I don’t drive. It’s in the
garage out back.”
    She was handing him so many things: money,
house keys, car keys, hopes and dreams. He should give her
something, too. A promise,